Fate's Precious Threads
by brynhlldr
Summary: Fate was a cruel mistress. She loves her tapestries and she loves her hero and demon.


Fate was a cruel mistress. She plucked the threads of the tapestry bearing her namesake, knotting some together and twisting lives together into one single strong thread, or simply tangling two together before they went somewhere else in the tapestry.

Sometimes she finished a tapestry, the threads cut off, signaling the end of a time, but a few threads always connected it to the next, and it would spin a whole new tale of adventure and romance and hatred and war. The demons had always been a favoured puppet to instill the flames of the startings of war into, watching her tapestry light up in a brilliant ball of flame. The woman would cackle, her form flickering between a ball of light, stronger than the Gilded Goddesses and Gods of old.

Sometimes Fate had a more humble appearance, taking on the form of a goddess, or an every day woman seen browsing at the local market, depending on who viewed her. A benevolent hero would see her as a kind goddess, but someone twisted and malevolent would view her as a raging spirit, ready to make their very existence hell on earth.

And sometimes she was cruel and benevolent heroes recieved the short end of her strings and they were dyed red with blood. Of course, one thread she dyed with blood remained to be truly destroyed by her cruel touch. The life tied to it may end, but only at the start of a new time of war that she would start would a new hero be born.

Fate could see all of time, and every possibility that would affect her tapestry if she twisted the threads of two women together before pulling them apart, cutting one off after only a short tug later; or if she took two men and shook them to their core by tying and twisting their fates together.

And of course she had her favourites. The hero of Hylia and the weapon of the Demon King. They had met their dues only because she tangled their red threads with the shining gold threads of immortals. She could control only one or two deities because the others, the oldest goddesses, had created this infinite space where she dwelt and spun her stories. She adored the little princess that Hylia had become, and the man and beast the Demon King would become after her favoured hero defeated him.

Oh, but her favourite red threads of the hero and the demon... They had once been plain, but she stained the demon's with his own blood when she twisted it with the Demon King's, and the first hero had bargained to be freed, and thus the two red threads were twisted and parted.

Time passed, ending one tapestry and starting a new one, Fate plucking through them like a harp, her hero being played even before his birth, and she ran her finger along those two red threads, before pinching them together and twisting them this way and that, and then tying them in a knot. The goddess incarnate tangled with her hero, but it was never tied.

Those two threads remained together for the remainder of time, the sword a part of the hero now. It splintered, a thin thread that was two fibers of the main one running alongside it. Something had happened to cause it, but she left it alone. Fate had messed with them enough, continuing to tie knots along the line with other knots, never tying the princess and hero together, after all, she wouldn't dare do that. It would stain the perfect gold of the incarnate goddess and ruin her perfection. And Fate would not allow that.

Fate smirked, cutting lives short, and when she went to wipe humanity from the planet, leaving nothing but the animals and plants to grow wild, those two fibers refused to be cut, even though the thread they had been beside for so long had been ended. It frustrated the being, until she realized that in her space of tapestry after tapestry, of golds and reds, that there was another being with her.

She turned, seeing the figure of the demon that had bartered with her all those hundreds of thousands of years ago standing there, the hero she had tied him with beside him, a sheathed sword clutched in her hands, and she could swear that there were wings from their backs. White wings burst from the hero, where as black ones appeared from the demon.

"Gods of my making." She mused, looking up. "And this is how you punish me?" She asked the golden goddesses.

"We are here to relieve you of duty." The demon spoke, and the hero raised the sword and split the very fabric of the room apart, so nothing remained.

And as such, the woman failed to continue existing, the only thread she could never touch finally cut by the hero she had meddled with for all of these years.

How beautiful


End file.
